


Once Because I want To

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Stiles is accidentally found standing under the mistletoe with someone, and one time that he's there on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Because I want To

**1**

The first Christmas everyone spends together, Stiles is seventeen. Derek has a house now, though technically it belongs to the pack more than it belongs to him. Isaac takes permanent residence in one of the four small rooms, as does Peter. The last room is technically a guest bedroom, though the place has so many of Erica’s belongings in it, it can’t really be considered that.

It’s not like everything is suddenly perfect between all of them. Scott and Derek still butt heads constantly -- though that’s more because of Scott than Derek, if he’s being honest-- but they have a sort of mutual agreement to respect each other. Stiles thinks this has more to do with Scott spending eighty percent of his time with Isaac, and that putting up with Derek is something that only happens for Isaac’s benefit.

But Stiles? Stiles doesn’t really mind Derek anymore. Sure, the guy’s kind of prickly around the edges, but he makes good jokes, when he feels like contributing. And when he does smile -- usually it’s just a smirk, but the genuine ones come out occasionally-- they could almost be considered _nice_. You know, if Stiles cared whether or not Derek smiled. Which he didn’t. Seriously.

Back to Christmas. The thing is, Derek was the one who chose to surround himself with _teenagers_. He really shouldn’t have been all that surprised when Erica asked whether or not they were going to get a tree. And from there? It all kind of escalated into a huge production, one that Derek spent most of his time avoiding, if Stiles’ guesses were correct, by hiding out in his room every time someone other than Isaac or Peter entered the house.

Erica roped Isaac in first, insisting that he help pick out the tree with her and Boyd. And, in turn, Isaac dragged Scott along with him, and Scott dragged _Stiles_ around with _him_ , until suddenly there was a big party planned for Christmas eve, one filled with those small little bite sized foods -- horderves, as Scott pronounces it-- and alcohol, supplied by Peter, who was really a bad influence on everyone, with Christmas music and the television being set to that channel that just runs clips of a burning fireplace.

Derek isn’t involving himself at all, though, and while everyone else is downstairs, dancing or chatting or stuffing their faces-- _Scott_ \--, Derek is still in his room. Stiles really shouldn’t care, and maybe a part of him doesn’t, but there’s another part that really does. Not because it’s Derek, just because no one should be locked up and alone on Christmas.

He ducks out of the party for a minute, earning himself a confused look from Scott, and heads up the stairs. He pauses in front of the last room in the hall-- Derek’s, he knows, since he’s been in the other three, even Peters, though that was a very traumatic story for another time.

He hesitates, even though he was sure Derek knew he was standing just on the other side of the door. With a deep breath, he knocks on the door and then, a moment later, he hears Derek crossing the room. Just as the door’s about to open, Erica darts out of the guest bedroom, knocking past Stiles, and manages to slap something to the top of Derek’s doorframe.

She giggles once, gives Stiles a kiss on the cheek that most definitely left a red lipstick stain, and then darted back downstairs before either of them could figure out what the hell happened. Stiles met Derek’s eyes, his own wide, and then looked above their heads.

Mistletoe.

It was stupid. Really stupid. It’s not like anyone actually, you know, kissed under the mistletoe, right?

“What the hell is that?” Derek demands, stepping a bit farther out of room to look up at the plant.

Stiles clears his throat. “Um, mistletoe?” He supplies, and Derek just continues to frown, though now it’s at Stiles instead. “You know, people hang it up around Christmas time, if two people end up standing below it, they’re supposed to kiss.”

And he realizes right then that that’s exactly what he and Derek were doing. Standing under it. Together. And Derek’s eyes meet his again, and then drop to his lips before returning to his eyes so quickly that Stiles isn’t even sure if it happened or not.

“And what happens if we don’t?” Derek asks, and his voice is only slightly lower than it usually is, almost unnoticeable in its change, except Stiles always noticed the stupidest things, so he picks up on it.

Stiles licks his lips. “Nothing.” He answers honestly. “I mean, it’s not-- it’s not like there’s a rule that says you have to. It’s just, like, a joke, or-- I don’t know, it’s--,”

“Mandatory!” Erica called up the stairs. “Just do it!”

Stiles gives Derek a horribly stunned look, and Derek looked about ready to go downstairs and rip Erica’s head off. Stiles takes a step back, realizing that he was still standing under the mistletoe with Derek, when Derek reaches out with a single hand, balls it in Stiles’ shirt, and then he _kisses him_. It’s quick, so quick, and it’s not exactly pleasant, though it’s not horrible. Derek’s lips crash into his a bit too hard, and there’s a painful moment of teeth pressing against lip, but Derek smells kind of good, and his stubble runs over Stiles’ chin just a bit, and that? That’s nice.

And then Derek releases him, reaches up and pulls the mistletoe off his doorframe and stomps downstairs, probably to shove it down Erica’s throat.

Stiles just stands there for a moment, too stunned to do anything other than reach up and press his fingers to his lips, wondering if they were still tingling because of the slight pain Derek’s lips had caused, or if it was for another reason.

* * *

 

**2**

“So is this going to become a thing?” Stiles asks the next year, a few days before Christmas. It wasn’t exactly cold out, but the sweater Stiles is wearing is thin, and the cold air rips through it easily. “Is there going to be annual Christmas parties at the pack-house?” He almost said Hale house but caught himself. That wasn’t what anyone referred to it as, because it wans’t the Hale house. Derek would probably be pissed if anyone said as much.

Derek’s responding grunt made Stiles roll his eyes. He was being far too broody for someone shopping for a Christmas tree, for God’s sake.

“Can’t we just grab the first one we see?” Derek demands, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The only reason why it’s the two of them getting the tree is because they need Stiles’ jeep to get it home, and because Derek was the one paying. Derek clearly didn’t want to be there, and Stiles was kind of in the same boat, to be honest.

“If we get the wrong tree, Erica will skin us alive.” Stiles points out. “Well, okay, she’ll skin _me_ alive.” He corrects.

Stiles tries not to notice how out of place they looked. Prinston Pine, the name of the outdoor place where the trees were sold, was filled with families carting grinning children around to find the perfect tree. There was the occasional couple, too. Stiles and Derek, not walking close enough to each other to even seem companionable, did not fit in.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” a man dressed in green pants and a red sweater asks, cutting in front of them. He had a nametag on his chest, and obviously worked there.

Derek just glares at him, so Stiles is the one to answer, “We’re not really sure what we’re looking for.”

The man grins at him. “Personally, my favourite are the spruce. They’re the ones over there,” he uses his index finger to point to the other side of the field where the trees are. “Just past that little archway.”

Before Stiles can answer, Derek grabs his arm and drags him off. “The faster we get out of here, the better.” Derek grumbles.

The second they’re under the archway, two women jump in front of them, much the way the other employee had. One holds a camera in her hand, and they’re both dressed as elves.

“You just passed under the mistletoe arch!” one of them says loudly.

“The _what_?” Derek asks, hand around Stiles’ wrist almost painfully tight.

“Come on, give us a kiss for the camera!” The other girl says, but she sounds considerably less enthusiastic, and she has a sour look on her face as she raises the camera. “Seriously, I’m getting paid to do this shit, just kiss so I can go back to doing nothing.”

Stiles looks at Derek, and then above them to realize that it was, in fact, an archway made out of mistletoe. Huh.

Derek makes a low, growling sound, and then just like last time, Stiles is pulled in and he’s kissed. This time it’s a bit different, because Derek’s lips are chapped, and he can actually see their breath mingling together in the cold air before it happens.

“Good?” Derek demands, turning back to the girl after a flash of light momentarily blinded Stiles.

The girl looks down at the camera, and then back at them. “There’s something wrong, camera flare--,”

“We’ll take this one.” Derek says gruffly, grabbing the closest tree in his arms. Both girls looked surprised at how easily he handled the hulking thing, and Stiles raised his hands in a, ‘What can you do?’ kind of gesture before jogging after Derek, who was heading towards the booth where you pay.

* * *

 

**3**

It happens _again_ that same year, the thing with the mistletoe. Stiles is starting to wonder if the gods are just fucking with him, at this point, because, really? Why does this keep happening?

And why the hell was he enjoying it? Because he shouldn’t _enjoy_ kissing Derek. Especially when Derek obviously didn’t want to do it in the first place. And he _definitely_ shouldn’t be thinking about kissing Derek every time he looked at the guy. Things were already awkward enough between them without Stiles wondering how it would feel if Derek kissed him for real, long and slow, tongues brushing lazily against each other, hands roaming.

This time, weirdly enough, it’s Scott’s fault. “You’re taller than me, just hang it up, right in the kitchen doorway.” He’d begged, and Stiles was too much of a sucker to say no.

“You know, even if you do manage to get Isaac under the mistletoe, that doesn’t mean he’s going to kiss you.” Stiles points out, grabbing a chair from the kitchen. “I don’t see why you can’t just kiss him on your _own_. I bet he’d appreciate it more.”

Scott bit his lip as Stiles put the chair under the doorway. “I can’t.”

Stiles snorts and grabs the hammer, nail, and bundle of mistletoe from Scott’s hand. It was tied nicely with a bow, and Stiles would have laughed as his friend, really, if Scott didn’t already look seriously embarrassed.

“Scott!” Isaac’s voice cuts through the house before Stiles can comment on the bundle, and Scott’s eyes go wide. “I’ll be right back,” he says quickly, before darting off.

Stiles rolls his eyes again and gets up on the chair. It’s a bit wobbly, but it’ll have to do because, even with the extra height, Stiles is only just tall enough to affectively nail the plant to the doorframe.

He almost stubs his thumb twice. He was never good with tools, to be honest, as his dad had always been quick to point out. In fact, his tool box, in the garage, had been padlocked since he was seven.

Still, he manages, just barely, and then goes to jump down off the chair when there’s a loud snapping sound, and one of the legs breaks, and Stiles starts to fall. There’s really only a split second of panic, of that, ‘Oh god, I’m going to die!’ feeling as his stomach flutters and he falls backwards, arms pin wheeling.

And then someone catches him under the armpits, holding him upright, and Stiles finds himself planted firmly, and safely, on the floor. And it really shouldn’t surprise him when he sees that it’s Derek.

“Thanks,” he says quickly, but Derek’s looking above him. “Oh, yeah, Scott told me to put that there. He-- well, I can’t really tell you, actually. Bro code and all that.”

Derek continues to ignore him, and Stiles realizes that they’re both in the doorway, and Derek’s still standing close to him, and that _stupid_ _freaking plant_ is hanging above them _again_. And this time? This time it’s Stiles who initiates the kiss, and he’s almost grateful for the excuse, because he _wants_ to kiss Derek, okay?

He’s grown in the past two years, and Derek is no longer just a bit taller than him. In fact, Stiles almost has an inch on Derek, so it’s easy to just tilt his head the slightest bit and slot their mouths together. Derek’s unmoving under him for a moment, before his lips slide against Stiles’, longer than they had the other two times.

Derek tastes like sugar and peppermint, as if he’d been sucking on a candy cane which, wow, what a great visual. His hands lift to just shy of touching Stiles’ sides, and then he steps back, breaking the kiss.

“Tell Scott to get that thing of out my house.” Derek says, meaning the mistletoe, and then he walks away. Stiles is still breathless.

* * *

 

**4**

It’s really no surprise to anyone when, on the third anniversary of their Christmas parties, this time Lydia and Jackson joining in the festives, that Erica drops down on one knee in front of Boyd, who was standing in front of the Christmas tree, having just put the star on top.

The entire room is silent, even Jackson, and Boyd looks down at her, his eyes wide. Stiles isn’t shocked at all, really, that Erica’s the one initiating it. Boyd was cool and calm and careful, and Erica was chaotic and impatient and was totally not the type of girl to wait around to be proposed to.

She doesn’t ask, though, she just sits there on one knee, box in hand, and Boyd grabs her and pulls her up, and then they’re kissing, and everyone looks away for a second because it’s not a chaste kiss at all. “Of course,” Boyd says after they break apart.

Erica grins and slides the ring onto his finger, and then kisses his cheek. “And what about the rest of you, huh?” She demands, turning to the rest of the room. “I’ve got mistletoe places strategically around the house and if you try to bail on it, I’ll know.” She warns.

Scott looks hopeful at this, and Stiles notices the way his eyes cut to Isaac. Last year attempts had failed completely, apparently, though Stiles really was sure that if Scott just went for it, Isaac would reciprocate.

Stiles is a little hopeful, too, but he’s not stupid enough to look at Derek.

Lydia and Jackson supply a kind of calm and elegance that their Christmas party used to lack. There was no food throwing -- though Erica looked a little put out by that--, and they drank wine instead of cheap vodka mixed with Pepsi.

Stiles is just exiting the kitchen after his third drink, and he collides with another body. Without even thinking he looks up and, yep, there’s the mistletoe.

Scott groans. “Why you?” He demands.

Stiles rolls his eyes but he feels awkward. “Thanks, buddy.”

Scott sighs. “You know what I mean. No offence, but I was kind of hoping to kiss someone else under the mistletoe.”

Stiles rolls his eyes _again_ and then balls his hands into fists. “Are we doing this, or do we just pretend this never happened?”

Scott makes a face. “Erica scares me.” He admits, and Stiles kind of agrees.

It’s the most awkward thing ever, and it lasts all of about 0.2 seconds before both of them pull back. Scott wipes the back of his mouth -- rude-- and then grabs Stiles drink from his hand and chugs it down in one sip. “I’m going to kiss Isaac.” he announces.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Good for you, dude.”

Scott nods. “Right. Now I just need to find him.” And then he’s gone.

Stiles looks up at the mistletoe one more time before grabbing a chair from the kitchen like last year, only this time he’s pulling it down instead of nailing it up. He doesn’t throw the mistletoe out, though.

* * *

 

**+1**

He finds Derek in the living room, talking to Peter in low, hushed tones. Erica and Lydia are gushing over the engagement, and Jackson looks bored out of his mind.

Stiles ignores them and walks right over to Derek and Peter. Peter raises his eyebrows but something in Stiles’ expression has him taking a step back, breaking conversation with Derek. Derek turns to him after that, and he looks a bit annoyed. Stiles doesn’t care.

He lifts the stupid mistletoe above both of their heads, and then just looks at Derek. It takes Derek a few moments to catch on, and then he sighs deeply before grabbing Stiles roughly by the face and pulling him. There is nothing quick about this kiss. It’s heated and perfect, and one of Derek’s hands moves from his face to the back of his neck, holding him there. Stiles takes this to mean it’s okay for him to touch Derek back, and wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, fingers accidentally -- on purpose-- sliding up the back of Derek’s shirt.

Stiles’ tongue prods Derek’s lips until they part, and then the kiss deepens, and it’s just as good as he imagined, if not better, because Derek groans into his mouth as their tongues move together.

When they pull apart Stiles throws the mistletoe to the ground. “I’m kind of growing fond of that plant, though,” he adds.

Derek makes an annoyed sound but he kisses Stiles again, so Stiles thinks he kind of feels the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of just fluffy and probably out of character, but I'll probably do a bunch more Christmas fics over the next (almost) month,, so this will probably become a very cheesy series. :)
> 
> because it's never too early for Christmas fics, right?


End file.
